


risk versus reward

by 8BitSkeleton



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Crimes & Criminals, Denial of Feelings, Fist Fights, Getting Together, Heist, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Kissing, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Pre-Heist, Self-Destruction, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:22:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27097261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8BitSkeleton/pseuds/8BitSkeleton
Summary: Minho's not sure why he went to the fight club in the first place. He thinks maybe he went to pose himself a question he's not at all prepared consider, much less answer.All he knows is that it was a domino effect from then on.(In which they are gay, do crimes, and Minho figures out the hard way that if he wants something, he just needs to ask for it.)
Relationships: Bang Chan/Han Jisung/Hwang Hyunjin/Kim Seungmin/Lee Felix/Lee Minho/Seo Changbin/Yang Jeongin, Bang Chan/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Bang Chan/Seo Changbin, Han Jisung | Han/Hwang Hyunjin, Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Hwang Hyunjin/Lee Felix, Hwang Hyunjin/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Kim Seungmin/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Lee Felix/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Lee Minho | Lee Know/Seo Changbin, Lee Minho | Lee Know/Yang Jeongin | I.N
Comments: 29
Kudos: 177





	risk versus reward

**Author's Note:**

> hi!!! this is my first fic for the fandom! i saw a [picture of lino with bruised up knuckles](https://www.instagram.com/p/CGM64OJl5NT/) and then my brain gave birth to this entire universe. i like it here. i may write more for it. 
> 
> shoutout to @elvenlix on twt who let me vent in her dms abt my worries for this! and i guess shoutout to bb (dickwad) too.
> 
> scroll to end notes in case ur confused abt their roles in the crew!! also for content warnings :)

Minho isn't built for this. He's lithe. Acrobatic. Has always considered himself above the grit and grime of settings such as this. He's got a dancer's body, so he thinks. Made for finer work, like sneaking into vents he shouldn't be able to access, like free climbing the sides of buildings with only drainage pipes to aid him. Not standing in a dirt circle with blood streaking his face, his knuckles split open. The man in front of him bares his big ugly teeth set in his big ugly face.

Minho bares his teeth back, a mockery of the man’s sneer. Anger flashes over the man’s face at the action, revealing him as predictable as Minho hoped he was. The man swings his left hook and Minho ducks at the telegraphed move, ducks low to jab at the man’s ribs. The man barely flinches at the hit but his follow-through has thrown him off balance and Minho uses it to his advantage. He reaches his right leg out, hooking it around the man’s ankles, sending him sprawling onto the dirt.

Minho turns, lightning-quick, and catches the man as he’s stopping his fall with his hands. Before the man can react, Minho has him pressed against the ground, sitting square in his back, a knee pressed to the man’s neck.

“Yield,” Minho says, voice calm despite his exertion.

“Fuck you!” Comes the eloquent response.

Minho presses down harder, feeling windpipe and vertebrae beneath his knee.

“Yield,” he repeats. “Before I break something back here.”

There’s a tense moment where Minho thinks maybe he’ll have to follow through with his threat. Another.

Then, “Alright, I yield!”

The crowd surrounding them breaks into jeers and boos as Minho eases his pressure, quickly dismounting the man right after. They cheer Minho on as he stands. He can’t help but smile, a quick quirk of the lips before it fades, mirth souring as soon as he spots Chan on the edge of the crowd. He doesn’t look happy.

Minho sighs. So much for a fun night out.

The circle of bodies parts around him as he approaches Chan.

Chan has a displeased look on his face, arms crossed over his chest. “What are you doing?”

Minho brushes past him, “What does it look like?”

Chan turns to follow, “It looks like you’ve joined a fight club that meets in the middle of nowhere.”

“Congratulations, you have a brain.” He reaches Chan's car, knowing the shape, make, and model by heart now.

“Minho—”

“Open the door, Chan.”

There’s a second of hesitation before the locks click open. Minho slides inside and turns his head away from the driver’s side, doesn’t watch Chan as he gets in.

The car is silent for a long moment as Chan makes no move to turn it on. Minho almost cracks, tells Chan to just get him home already, he’s dusty and bruised and his knuckles ache with opened scars. Chan breaks the silence before he can, thank god.

“Hey. Can you look at me?”

Minho hesitates for a second.

“Minho.”

He turns to look at the other man, face a mask. It almost crumbles as he meets Chan’s eyes, earnest and worried, searching Minho’s face for something he doesn’t find.

“You know I don’t like to play mother hen with you.” Chan starts. “With any of you. But I was worried. I was worried about you. You disappeared tonight.”

“Yeah, that was on purpose.” Minho looks down at his hands, closes his fist to re-open his bloody knuckles. He winces at the pain. “I needed a break.”

Chan is quiet for a second and Minho can practically feel his worry and anxiety like a physical presence, a third body in the car. The intensity catches Minho off guard, makes his breath short. He can’t bring himself to meet Chan’s eyes.

After a moment where Minho can tell Chan is trying to reorient himself around where this conversation has gone, he hears the older man sigh lightly.

“Yeah, we all need breaks sometimes.” Minho glances up to catch Chan looking out the windshield, eyes searching. “‘S pretty out here. Good place to get away to.”

“I didn’t come here for the views, hyung.”

Chan’s far away look evaporates as he looks back to Minho, his smile now coming easily. “I bet you didn’t! Can’t really focus on the views when there’s a man throwing you a punch, is there?”

It’s this that makes it all worse, Minho thinks. The way Chan tries to understand without knowing the depth of the situation, his remarkable empathy shining through. Makes him feel the weight of his guilt about doing such a dangerous thing without knowing consequences. He’s not Changbin, who frequents these meetings fairly regularly, or even Chan himself, who has spent his fair share of nights in brawls like this before the crew was even a thing. Minho is a stealth operative first and foremost, something he prides himself on. He’s not supposed to see combat like this, not supposed to be taking blows.

He’s still not sure why he did this. He ponders while he examines the fresh blood blooming over the back of his palm, question nagging away in the back of his mind.

He looks back up, now meeting Chan’s worried stare. He hesitates for a second before he leans into Chan’s space, head landing on the older man’s shoulder and digging his forehead into Chan’s neck. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I knew you’d be upset.”

Chan’s hand moves automatically as it comes to bury itself in Minho’s hair, soft fingers carding through the dirty locks.

“‘M not upset, Min. I was worried. Changbin said he’d given you an address in the middle of a field and I wasn’t sure—“

Minho snorts, shakes his head into Chan’s neck. “Fucking Changbin. Couldn’t keep a secret if he tried.”

“To be fair, he did try. Had to bribe him for it.”

“What’d he get?”

“Joyride in the Maserati.”

“Your _favorite_ _car_?”

“Yeah, I know. Hurt me too. It’s just one night, though.”

Minho laughs again, a quiet sound. He shifts his head, pressing dry lips to the bottom of Chan’s jaw. “Thanks for coming to get me,” he whispers into the skin there, feeling how Chan’s breath stutters. “You’re the best.”

“‘Course,” Chan says, fingers tugging Minho’s hair lightly.

The movement is abrupt as Minho leans back into his own seat, ceasing all contact in a split second, leaving Chan’s hand to fall limply onto the center console. “Now get me home. I need a shower.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay,” Chan answers dumbly.

The engine purrs on and Minho settles into his seat, prepared for the ride back.

+++

When they walk into the apartment, the first thing Minho sees are the explosives. Jisung and Seungmin sit on the floor, whispering conspiratorially over the detonators and wires spread out in front of them. This is Seungmin’s area of expertise but Jisung has taken a liking to it as of late so it’s not an uncommon sight to see them like this, giggling to themselves as if they’re back in school and one of them has told a particularly funny joke in class.

Seungmin looks up before Jisung does and it seems that, for a second, the sight doesn’t click. He looks away without registering Minho or Chan before his eyes widen and he snaps his gaze back. Jisung follows his gaze, features also morphing into surprise. Minho guesses he looks worse than he feels because, immediately, Jisung is jumping up from his spot on the floor and hurrying towards him.

“What were you— um, hello? Why are you bloody? Did you get kidnapped again?”

“First rule,” Minho starts somberly. “Is that I can’t talk about it.”

Jisung looks so confused for a second that Minho almost laughs. Almost.

He does crack a smile as Seungmin lets out a surprised laugh, not moving from his seat on the floor. “You joined a fight club?”

The noise Jisung makes as he registers the words is hilarious all by itself. Minho smiles lopsidedly.

“A _fight club_?” Jisung asks, his face a mixture of confused and impressed. “Like, _the_ fight club Changbin used to go to? He told me it disbanded!

As if summoned by his name, Changbin appears then, cup in his hand as if he’s on his way to get a refill on his drink. “Oh, you’re back.”

“Yeah.” Minho levels him a harsh look. “Thanks for snitching.”

Chan drops his hands onto Minho’s shoulders, massaging roughly for a second. “No, really. Thanks for snitching.”

Changbin shrugs. “He offered the Maserati, dude! I can’t pass up the Maserati.”

“No moral backbone these days.” Minho rolls his eyes as Changbin salutes him sarcastically and continues on his way to the kitchen. Chan drops his grip on Minho’s shoulders and follows Changbin into the apartment.

“I can’t believe he didn’t tell me about the fight club.” Jisung says, gaze flipping from Minho to Changbin’s exiting form incredulously.

“Whoops!” Changbin exclaims without turning. Chan lets out a laugh as they both disappear around the corner.

“Why am I always out of the loop with this shit?” Jisung murmurs under his breath as he reaches out for Minho’s hand, taking one into both of his. He examines Minho’s bruised knuckles gently, his touch warm over the split skin.

Minho’s voice drops to match his. “Probably because Changbin knows you’d wanna join in and you’d get your head split open for it.”

“I can fight!” Jisung argues, voice raising in defiance.

Seungmin laughs again, heartily this time, making Jisung turn to him. He sticks his tongue out in mockery, an action which Seungmin mirrors until they’re making increasingly funny faces back and forth, Minho’s hand still gently cradled in Jisung’s grip.

“Hey,” Minho tugs on the hand in Jisung’s grip, fingers still enveloped by the younger man. “I need a shower.”

“Yeah, you really do,” Seungmin comments. Now it’s Minho’s turn to stick his tongue out at him and he does so with relish. With flair, he thinks.

Jisung chuckles, letting go of his hand. “Yeah, okay. Go do your business. You look like you got into a fight with a particularly bulky racoon.”

“Racoons are cute,” Minho comments idly as Jisung moves to sit by Seungmin again, leaving him free to enter the apartment properly, to get to his shower already.

He passes by the darkened living room on his way down, catching a glimpse of Felix tucked between Hyunjin’s legs, back to chest, as they watch a movie. Jeongin sits on the other side of the couch, laptop open and forgotten on his lap as he watches with them.

“Hyung?” Felix’s voice stops him at the doorway. “Are you… okay?”

“Yeah,” Minho reassures. “Just a night out.”

Felix seems unconvinced. He pushes out of Hyunjin’s hold and pads his way over, eyebrows lifting as he takes in Minho’s sorry state. “You have…” he lifts his hand to Minho’s cheek, ghosting over it before dropping again. “Blood?”

The words make the other two men snap their attention to him. Minho feels their gazes, feels their worry. He smiles at Felix, as if unbothered. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just going to take a shower.”

Minho steps away from Felix. He doesn’t expect the younger man to step with him, reaching out to take his hand. Minho winces at the brush of his fingers over the tender skin of his knuckles and Felix catches it, face falling, dropping Minho’s hand as if he’s been burned.

“Hyung,” Felix repeats, emotion overtaking his voice. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing,” Minho says, trying to disengage from Felix’s worry.

“No, it’s _not_ nothing.”

Minho meets his eyes, filled with the same kind of worry which had plagued Chan earlier. Worry for _him_. He swallows thickly.

“Come on.” He lets Felix tug him in the direction of the bathroom, mind brimming with emotions he doesn’t know what to do with. He’d hoped someone would notice his bruises, he just didn’t think they’d want to care for them.

When they arrive, Minho catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror before Felix pushes him onto the closed seat of the toilet and kneels down to fetch something under the sink. Minho was sure he couldn’t look as bad as he thought— and at least he was right about that.

He looked worse.

The bags under his eyes are noted and a considerably large streak of blood is painted on his left cheek. He can’t tell if it’s his blood but something underneath it stings, likely an open cut. The dirt he’d been fighting on seemed to have liked him too, a thin layer covering him from head to toe. The thing that strikes him most, though, is the angry red mark that sits comfortably on the right side of his jaw.

He remembers getting hit, the blow glancing off him without really connecting. He remembers the shock of pain, the ugly clacking of his teeth as they were knocked together. But nothing after that. No lingering pain, no marked difference from every other aching part of him. He’d have a bruise, that’s for sure.

On his jaw. On his _face_.

Maybe fight club hadn't been the best idea.

He stares down at his messy knuckles, refusing to think about repercussions as Felix turns back to him with the first aid kit. It’s well worn by now, their life of crime calling for things such as these to be well supplied and kept close at hand. Felix kneels in front of him, hydrogen peroxide in one hand wetting the cotton pad in the other.

He sets the bottle down by Minho’s foot, trading it for his hand. His deft, pickpocket’s hands begin dabbing away at the dried blood, careful not to hurt the older man with his movements.

There’s a second of silent, diligent work on Felix’s part. Minho half hopes he doesn’t ask. He doesn’t think he could handle this mounting guilt.

Then, “What were you doing, hyung?”

Minho lets out a sigh. Might as well stick to his story. “Needed a night out.”

“A night out? What did you do, get into a fight in the middle of nowhere?”

He winces as the blood clears away, cotton pad hitting tender skin. Felix lessens his pressure, his touch feather-light as he cares for Minho’s hand.

“Yeah,” Minho answers quietly. “It’s— I don’t know.”

Felix stops, eyes meeting Minho’s. “That was meant to be a joke. Did—did you join Changbin’s fight club?”

“He told you about it?”

“I’m more surprised he told _you_ about it. I thought you hated fighting.”

He can’t fault Felix for that one. He bites his tongue about it because, by all accounts, he _does_ hate fighting in close quarters combat. Give him a poison to slip into a drink or a person to sneak up to and knock out instead, any day of the week. This isn’t to say that he doesn’t know how to fight— he does, and very well too, so Changbin says when they spar sometimes. There’s just… a part of him that can’t bring himself to do it, to throw punches and read body movements to prepare for the other person’s actions. He’d rather make the first move, set the stage, play on his terms. He’d rather a rigged game. He supposes he got lucky tonight in fighting another newcomer to the club. An oaf at that.

“I thought it would be fun,” he says in his defense, excuse sounding flimsy to his own ears.

The way Felix’s face falls makes Minho’s stomach swoop uncomfortably. “You shouldn't have to hurt yourself for fun.”

“I didn't hurt myself,” He tries. “That was the other guy.”

It doesn’t work, the joke. Felix spares him a meaningful glance that sticks in his mind before he settles back into his work. He works diligently, throwing out the cotton and gathering another, setting back to work, throwing another out when it’s dirty, then another. They sit there, stewing in the quiet for a long time.

Minho’s knuckles look raw and new by the time Felix is done, no blood or dust to be found anywhere.

“Nothing deep,” Felix informs even though Minho can see it himself. “You’ll have bruises and scabs for a while but nothing’s broken or imbedded.”

“Thanks,” Minho murmurs, sounding half-embarrassed.

Felix meets his eyes. “Wait.”

Minho doesn’t move as the younger man gathers another cotton pad and wets it, brings it to his face. He’s not sure why he holds his breath but he does, Felix's fingers swiping over the blood on his face gently. There’s three passes before Felix sits back, assessing the damage.

“A scratch,” he says. His hand comes back up, fingertips brushing the edges of it. “No broken skin. No blood. Maybe it wasn’t yours.”

The touch has rendered Minho incapable of anything but nodding sharply, ready to be done with this overt softness.

Felix seems to get the message. He leans back, not looking at Minho as he cleans up the supplies. “Get in the shower. I’ll bandage your knuckles when you come out.”

It feels like Felix can’t bring himself to meet his eyes as he leaves. Minho’s unsure if he should be grateful for it.

+++

Felix does as promised when he’s done with his shower, bandaging Minho’s hands as softly as he had cleaned them earlier. The gauze sits tight and unmoving over his hands but still comfortable. Their eyes finally meet again before Minho turns to go to his room. The feeling of _something_ he can’t place just yet bubbles in him as the contact breaks and he walks down the hallway, leaving Felix to his own devices. Instead of lingering on his feelings, his mind replays the scene he saw when he walked in over and over, the scene of Felix comfortably settled between Hyunjin’s legs.

He’s attempting to tamp down a particularly bad bout of _feelings_ when there’s a soft knock on his door, signaling that his day isn't over just yet.

“Yeah?”

Jeongin's face peeks through the crack in the door, as if embarrassed to even be here.

“Hyung? I have… um, I have the new blueprints for the heist. I wanted to show Chan but he… went into Changbin’s room and I don’t want to bother them, in case…” Jeongin trails off, implication clear as day.

Chan would usually be the one to go to about this, given that he signs off on any and all heist plans, but their second point of contact could be and usually was Changbin, who helped fine tune a lot of plans. Jisung would be their third point of contact but only when the thing is ironed out. He’s good at glancing at a heist plan and doing the calculations in a split second, as if troubleshooting any incongruencies in the plan, calculating their chances of success.

So with both Changbin and Chan…. otherwise engaged, Jeongin has come to Minho—second oldest and best candidate for this kind of plan run-through where not everything is set in stone just yet. More often than not, he’s the one sneaking in and out of otherwise restricted areas, which means he’s overly familiar with blueprints and all their intricacies. He can help here, lead Jeongin around entrances and exits and points of contact, things he should watch out for.

(The thought of Chan and Changbin makes another nasty bout of feelings spring up, leaving Minho to swallow around the bitter taste.)

“Yeah, come in. Show me what you’re thinking.”

Relief washes over the younger man’s face as he pushes into the room, laptop held close to his chest. The door clicks shut softly as Jeongin shuffles in, looking warm and cozy in his oversized hoodie and sweatpants. Minho pauses for a second before he recognizes that it’s Seungmin’s hoodie, Hyunjin’s sweatpants. He looks away, up to Jeongin’s comfortable smile.

The younger man sits on the edge of the bed, placing the computer down between them. “This is it. It’s not big or complicated so we might not need Seungmin’s explosives. Unless the vault doesn’t want to budge, but I don’t think it should be that hard to figure out—“

Minho glances at the blueprints but focuses on Jeongin’s face soon after. He looks nervous, the emotion painted over every inch of him. Minho doesn’t blame him—this is his first true heist, the first one he’s planned every step of the way. A rite of passage for their crew.

“—When we do the casing. I think I could get us into these cameras here and disable them but the security is old and I think slow and I don’t know if they’ve updated recently, right? What if they update their security tonight or, oh no, what if they update it the night before we’re set to move in? Like, what if—“

Minho sets his hand on the back of Jeongin’s head, silencing the younger man’s words with his touch.

“Hey. Breathe. Take a big, deep breath. Come on, like this.” He breathes in deep, making a show of it, and exhales slowly. Does it once, twice, until Jeongin’s gaze is trained on him and his breathing has calmed. The fingers at the base of Jeongin’s scalp card through the short hairs, slow and soothing. An echo of Chan’s earlier action on him shining back onto someone who needed it more at this moment. “You’ve been researching this for weeks. You know this better than anyone. Trust yourself. You need to trust yourself to make it in this business because we all trust _you_. We know you can do it.”

Jeongin’s eyes slip closed, his exhale slow and shaky. Minho presses onto the back of his neck, shifting him forward. His head dips, dropping onto Minho’s, resting forehead to forehead. Minho presses into the contact, a fond nudge. “It’ll be okay.”

Another slow breath in from Jeongin, another out. His eyes open, soft and hesitant. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Minho assures him, letting their foreheads linger. He presses into it once more before leaning back again, turning his attention back to the laptop screen. “Now, start from the top. Let’s iron this shit out.”

+++

When Minho wakes, he’s warmer than usual. There’s another scent in his bed, one that’s not unfamiliar nor unwelcome. As he cracks open his eyes, his first sight is that of Jeongin’s sleeping face. He’s laying in front of him, head on the edge of Minho’s pillow, hair sleep-ruffled and breaths coming in soft puffs as he rests. The laptop lays closed between them, as if keeping them apart, edges digging into Minho’s chest.

The urge to tuck Jeongin’s messy hair back behind his ear overwhelms him for a second before he reigns himself in. He sits up instead and almost immediately regrets it. Every part of his body hurts in ways he wasn’t even sure could happen. His thighs burn, his knuckles throb, his jaw aches. Searching fingers reach up to touch at the tender spot he saw last night, on the right side of the bottom of his jaw. It feels worse in the daylight, the bruise no doubt looking rather noted by now. He dreads having to go look at it in the mirror, knowing deep down that going to the club last night hadn’t been a good choice—but another, darker part of him is grateful to it, the hurt pushing everything into clearer focus than before. He remembers the kiss he’d laid on Chan’s jaw and wonders if it had been in the same spot he’s now sporting a bruise. Another echo.

His mind flashes back to Jisung’s genuine worry, Felix’s tender care, Jeongin looking to him for stability. He swings his legs over the edge of the bed, feeling his muscles stretch and burn at the movement, bringing it all into sharper focus. Care and worry.

Minho glances back to Jeongin’s sleeping form, a deep feeling tugging at his gut.

He ignores it and leaves for the bathroom instead.

+++

By the time they’re ready to leave to case their newest heist locations, it’s mid-morning. Everyone’s been brought into the loop by Jeongin and his blueprints with Minho piping in every now and then as Jeongin needs. He’s happy to share his expertise where he knows Jeongin lacks, the rookie that he is. It’s all worth it to see the younger man smiling gratefully at him as he clears up another question Seungmin has.

The plan for today is simple: they’ll visit the location, they’ll take mental notes of the place, and, most importantly, they’ll plant deceptively small infrared cameras wherever they can manage, just in case they need an extra set of eyes in the small bank.

The inside crew is all of them, save for Jisung and Seungmin, the latter of which had volunteered to take over for Jeongin in front of the computer as their pinch-hitter hacker and surveillance wiz. Chan had been very adamant about getting Jeongin into the field more, giving him a taste of it and, despite their youngest member’s complaints, Minho was inclined to agree with Chan—it would be good for him to get a feel for the work outside of what he sees on his computer screen. His calls would be better, knowing what’s possible in the heat of the moment and what isn’t, when the blood is pumping and adrenaline reaches a fever pitch.

When they break, about to head off to their rooms and get dressed for their parts, Chan calls out, “One more thing.”

The crew stops, looking at their leader.

“Minho.” Every gaze falls to him, leaving his skin crawling. “You’re too bruised up. Calls too much attention. You’re off the inside team for this.”

A spike of shame and indignation runs down his spine. “Chan-hyung, you can’t just—”

“I can,” Chan’s voice is firm. Leaves no room for arguments. “Jisung, you’re subbing in for Minho. He’s on lookout duty with Seungmin now.”

The look of offense and disgust which crosses Minho’s face is unfiltered, his disbelief making it hard to censor himself in this regard. When he looks to Seungmin, the other man is looking right back. As their eyes connect, Seungmin winks, makes a kissy face at him. “You and me, baby.”

Minho fake gags at the words.

Now properly dismissed, most file back to their rooms silently. Minho sits at the table for a second longer, stewing in his bitterness. He’s too distracted by his thoughts to notice Hyunjin until the other man is draping his arms around his shoulders, hugging him from behind, pressing their cheeks together briefly, like cats would.

“Hey,” Hyunjin half-whispers. “I think your bruises make you look even more handsome. I didn’t know that was possible.”

Minho doesn’t even try to hide his sarcasm, “Thanks for your vote of confidence.”

It doesn’t phase the younger man, his voice genuine as he responds, “No problem, baby.”

Hyunjin doesn’t move, even after it feels like he’s said his piece. Minho turns to face him and Hyunjin mirrors him, the tips of their noses brushing. He’s too close to focus on, dark eyes blurring as Minho tries to move back, to get a clear picture of him. Hyunjin lets him go, lets him get a full view of his easy smile, his bright eyes. As if Chan’s scolding hadn’t affected his view of Minho at all.

Before Minho can ask, can speak, can _think_ , Hyunjin is leaning back into his space and pressing a kiss onto his cheek, right on the apple of it. The press is firm, reassuring. Leaves Minho shocked into stillness. The pause gives Hyunjin the opportunity to move down, to press another, more gentle kiss to the tender bruise on the edge of his jaw.

“I’ll miss you out there,” He murmurs into the skin. “Get better soon.”

And then he’s gone, lifting off Minho like he’d never been there at all.

It takes him another few minutes before he can get up to go get dressed, his mind foggy with conflicting feelings, skin still buzzing with Hyunjin’s kisses.

+++

They all cram into their separate cars then, unconcerned with specific timings. This was as low stakes as they could get, casing a low trafficked bank in a less-than-booming area. Jeongin had chosen well for a first heist— about as beginner as they could get but still with enough variables that it could prove to be a little trickier than they thought. It ranked higher in reward than risk— even though the reward would also not be much. It was just another job, a normal day in the office for them.

Minho is the only one who doesn’t get to choose who he rides with. He has to drive a bulky van with Seungmin in the passenger seat playing whatever shit he deems car-ride worthy which is, so far, a lot of belting ballads. Minho grips the steering wheel hard as Seungmin hits a particularly high note. He refuses to be impressed by this.

“Feet off the dash. Jisung will kill us,” he slaps Seungmin’s feet repeatedly until the other man complies with a sigh. “Already stuck babysitting you, I don’t need Jisung on my ass, too.”

Seungmin laughs, as light and musical as his previous note, “I think you _would_ very much like Jisung on your ass. Am I wrong?”

Minho straightens his posture, ignoring the comment and instead swerving the van into a parking spot across the street from the bank. A quick glance at the place tells him that they’re not the first ones here. Inside, he can see Jisung and Felix at opposite ends of the bank, acting as if they don’t know each other in the least. Down the block, he spots Jeongin, looking more stable than he thought he’d be. He figures the others must be close by as well so he unbuckles his seatbelt and slips into the back of the van, Seungmin following close behind.

They work in silence to turn on the monitors and sound equipment built into the wall of the van, pulling up their foldable chairs in order to sit in front of it. Every screen shows static, every audio file blank.

“So,” Minho starts. “What do we do?”

“We stare at the blank monitors for three hours minimum.”

Minho laughs sardonically for a second before his face drops back into annoyance. “You're not funny.”

Seungmin echoes the laugh, just as mocking. “Neither are you.” He rolls his eyes. “And until we have cameras up, we can’t _do_ anything. Plus, even then, they might not work.”

“They won't _work_? Did I hear you right?”

“Seems like you heard me.” Minho has the overwhelming urge to fight him. “Look, it's a lot of variables. How old the building is, what the insulation is like, where there's gaps in the floor plan—”

“Hey, Earth to space cadet Seungminnie. We're not talking about your precious bombs here.”

“You're so annoying. It's the same principles: space and substance affect the way these things work. The signal of a camera and a remote detonator is the same, did you know that?”

“Wow. Is that right?” Despite his words, Minho absolutely refuses to be impressed by this. He knows that Seungmin’s expertise is explosives, their exact amounts and measurements for any space and any surface, but he also knows that he’s made a point to branch out from it, to learn every other trade their gang has to offer. Pickpocketing from Chan, brawling from Changbin, sleight of hand from Felix, car motors from Jisung, hacking from Jeongin. He’s not mastered it all yet, always thirsty for more knowledge than he can handle and obviously taking to some things (like hacking and motors) faster than others.

“I don't know,” Seungmin admits, making the other shoe drop. There goes any inkling of Minho’s admiration. “But I'm gonna say it’s right. It _sounds_ right to me.”

“Whatever,” Minho scoffs, rolls his eyes. Time to pull a power move. “I'm taking a nap.”

Instead of moving back to the front seat where he’d have more support, he leans back in his chair, settling in, his neck hanging all the way back.

He hears Seungmin scoff. “You're too old for that, you're gonna hurt yourself even more. Here.”

“What are you—” He can't even finish his complaint before Seungmin hauls him to the side, bumping the top of his head into Seungmin’s neck. Minho catches himself before he collapses into his lap, hand landing on Seungmin’s thigh for stability. The contact makes the both of them pause for a second, the tension spiking, quick and deep. There’s another second where Minho considers moving his hand, drumming his finger, just to see what would happen, before Seungmin shakes it off and continues trying to maneuver Minho around like a cat.

“Hey,” Minho complains properly now. “What am I, a toy?”

“You’re not fun enough for that,” Seungmin counters, draping an arm around Minho’s shoulder, finally settling them. It’s comfortable, more so than he thought it would be, and he hates the fact that he thinks so.

“There.” he can hear the smile in Seungmin’s voice. “Take your nap, old man. I’ll wake you up if I need to.”

“You better not,” he mumbles, settling into the embrace and letting his eyes close.

“Goodnight, baby.”

Minho grimaces in protest before he relaxes further, a deep, comforted sigh escaping his lips.

+++

When he wakes up, he is somehow in Seungmin’s lap, head pillowed onto his thigh. He hears Seungmin call to him softly, waking him gently. He’s not sure how long he’s been out.

He’s warned others about waking him up before. It’s a capital sin for their crew to wake him up prematurely. Minho almost wants to give points to Seungmin for his bravery but he’s also aware that the younger man likely has no choice in the matter. The space Minho has taken up his lap is not insignificant and would’ve made it hard for him to move. He’s surprised he didn’t wake up at all during his slide down Seungmin’s chest and briefly wonders what the other man’s reaction had been to Minho’s repositioning. He would’ve paid money to see that.

“What happened?” Minho asks, sitting up and forgoing his usual ‘being-woken-up’ death glare.

“We’re done.” Seungmin informs. “All cameras have been accounted for but... I can’t drive. So, you’re up.”

Minho tries to rub his eyes but fails halfway there, his bandaged hand colliding with his cheekbone and making him wince. He sees Seungmin’s eyebrows knit together for a second so he makes an effort to play it off.

He deflects, “How long have I been out?”

Thankfully, Seungmin doesn’t linger. “About... an hour? Hour and a half?”

“Thanks for letting me sleep.” He doesn’t meet Seungmin’s eyes as he speaks, instead examining the images on the monitors thoroughly. He brings up his memory of the blueprints, connecting entrances and exits in his mind. He spots a vent he could surely fit through, a high window that could be useful to him, footholds, handholds, camera angles, the whole nine. This is where he knows he can be useful, his skillset filling in blanks for him—where he can come in, where he can get out, where the members could exit if their plan fails.

“No problem,” Seungmin answers, voice gentle. Minho spares him a glance. Their eyes don’t meet as Seungmin stares at his lap, as if stunned that Minho had just woken from sleeping on it. On him.

He ignores his first instinct which is to snap Seungmin out of his daydream harshly, like he usually would. Figures they’re even for the gentle wake up call if he lets him have this moment. So, instead, he looks on as Seungmin brings his palms to his knees, flexing open and closed for a few seconds before he snaps himself out of it, looking up and meeting Minho’s gaze. His wide, earnest eyes connect with Minho’s searching ones. For a moment, he thinks Seungmin will say something important, genuine.

“You drool in your sleep,” Is what he says instead.

Minho scoffs, “Your thighs are bony and uncomfortable.”

“You were acting like they were comfy enough a few minutes ago.”

“I can admit when I make mistakes,” Minho sniffs, looking away. “It’s what makes me so humble.”

“Next time, I’m playing the alarm on my phone to wake you up.”

“Oh, finally.” He cuts his gaze back to Seungmin, a predatory smile on his face. “A valid reason for me to end your life.”

When Seungmin rolls his eyes, Minho knows he’s won. _Success._ He pays him no more mind, pushes out of his chair and into the driver seat in a fluid motion.

“Put those chairs away,” he orders. “And get up here quick. I’m not waiting for you.”

He doesn’t even look back as he starts the van and hears Seungmin scrambling about. When he glances into the bank, he can’t see any familiar faces, a good sign that his crew’s made it out and hopefully made it home by now. He’s already driving away from the bank when the other man joins him, buckling into his seat wordlessly.

Another few seconds pass before Seungmin leans forwards and reconnects his phone to the auxiliary cable, hitting play on yet another ballad and singing along without a care. Minho grips the steering wheel tighter, reminding himself that if he crashed this car and took them both down, Chan would likely find a way to hunt him down in the afterlife for it.

+++

When they reconvene, it’s back to work over a late lunch, the sun already sinking below the horizon. They discuss the camera angles and security systems they found, weaknesses, details, everything they need to pull this off. Chan slowly fills their white board in between bites of ramen until the thing is a mess of scribbles and details, decipherable only by the people gathered around the table.

Once the ramen and the conversation is finished, Chan caps the marker and throws it onto the table, as if dropping a mic.

“Pretty good, pretty good. It’s a good plan. It’s not too hard. Simple and by the book. Solid.” He smiles at Jeongin. “Good job on the planning! I knew you could do it.”

Jeongin ducks his head, hiding his growing blush. “Thanks, hyung.”

Minho knows it’s a solid plan and he likes it all the more because he already knows his role in it. They discussed it briefly before they’d moved on hurriedly, knowing these steps over by heart. When they need access to the security cameras but they’re on a local network like these are, Minho steps in to deliver them that access. It’s not his first rodeo, not his first time making a plan to sneak in, avoid cameras, reach his destination, and deliver Jeongin a stable connection to whatever he needs from the security system.

All he has to do is ask about the delivery method. “Are we starting tonight? How do I connect to the security system, flash drive virus? Cable?”

Jeongin looks up, startled. He trades a look with Chan and that’s when Minho knows this won’t end well.

His suspicions are confirmed when Chan answers instead of Jeongin. “No, it won’t be tonight. The job can wait a week, it’s not a big deal.”

He gets the sense that this is about him. “Why? We saw the place, it’s ripe for picking.”

When he meets Chan’s eyes, he can see the denial in them, his worry so evident, such a parallel to yesterday. He knows what he’s going to say before Chan can even open his mouth, so he interrupts, speaking before he can start, “Don’t try and tell me it’s for my benefit. I can do my job just fine. I don’t need you to tell me when to rest and when to not. You’re not my doctor.”

Chan closes his mouth slowly, expression morphing into a frown. Like he’s been caught. The table is dead silent for a long moment.

“While that may be the case,” Chan starts, tone diplomatic. “I still think it can be done next week. There’s no rush, the place isn’t going anywhere. Plus, a week of planning might do us good.”

Jisung pipes in then. “Yeah, we might get a plan that works without a hitch for once.”

The joke works to diffuse the tension for the others, everyone letting out a breath and laughing along. But not Minho. He stares at Chan for another moment longer, knowing he won’t budge, feeling like he’s being held accountable for the job taking longer, for his crew sitting around doing nothing for another week. All because Chan won’t let him climb into a window and sneak around in the dark for ten minutes, an aspect of his job he’s done flawlessly this entire time. Something he shouldn’t have trouble with even if he had both hands tied behind his back.

Anger spikes in his stomach and he pushes away from the table, startling the others. He pays them no mind as he retreats to his room, his own plan already forming.

When he’s done getting dressed in his stealth wear, he manages to swipe an old access key from Jeongin’s room, knowing the shape and weight of the flash drives by now. He takes a cable, too, for good measure. He also manages to slip into Chan’s room, borrowing his leather gloves. If Minho is climbing up the side of a building, he’d usually prefer not to wear anything on his hands. He’d like to know how every surface feels under his touch, identifying good handholds and bad ones. But, since he’s sneaking into a _bank_ , he kind of needs the protection. Fingerprints and DNA are such tricky things to get around these days. He has his own gloves, sure, but his hand is still bandaged, making the fit too tight, just on this side of hurting. His solution is Chan’s gloves, slightly bigger than his but not by much. A good compromise, in his book.

He’s just about ready to go, boots laced and supplies loaded into his cross-body pack when he hears someone approach him. He tries to ignore the presence, attempting to pick up the car keys by the door as quietly as he can.

The person doesn’t give him the chance.

“Hey,” It’s Jisung’s cheery voice, acting clueless. “Where are you going?”

“Out,” Minho answers flatly.

“Not to the fight club again, I hope.”

“No.” He still doesn’t turn to look at him. “Just out.”

“In your wall-scaling boots? Listen, I don’t think—”

“You’re right, you don’t.” With this, he turns, meeting Jisung’s eyes. He can tell he’s gone too far by the way Jisung winces to himself, clearly not ready for the comeback. But still, the man doesn’t give up.

“It’s not a good idea. You should really take a few days. Your hands are pretty banged up.”

“Thanks for the concern,” he says, turning back towards the door. “Tell Jeongin I’m plugging both in, he can decide the method later.”

Jisung takes a step forward, laying a hand on the door, preventing Minho from opening it. He can see the panic flashing over Jisung’s eyes. “Let me go with you,” he suggests. “I can drive. You won't have to worry about a car. I'll be your lookout.”

He considers that for a second. Jisung isn’t telling him that he’s wrong for going, isn’t telling him to stay behind and rest. He’s offering assistance, a feature he knows he’ll likely need. A two man job is always better than a one man, especially in situations like this. He can’t keep track of everything all the time.

So, he accepts. “Okay.”

Relief washes over Jisung’s face, a wide smile appearing. “Okay! Let’s go case a joint, part two!”

+++

They park a block away from the bank before splitting up to opposite sides of the street. The street is silent, not a single locale around them showing signs of life as they keep pace with each other despite the street that separates them. It’s as inconspicuous as they can be while still keeping an eye on each other.

When they arrive at their destination, Minho glances around quickly, double checking that they’re alone, before slipping into the alleyway behind the bank. He catches sight of Jisung across the street, leaning against a closed storefront, holding an unlit cigarette between his fingers. He knows Jisung doesn’t smoke but it does provide him with plausible deniability. A reason to be outside. Something to do to blend in. Their eyes briefly meet while Minho slips on the gloves, suppressing his wince as the leather slips onto his tender skin, jostling his bandages. Jisung gives him a brief nod before putting the cigarette between his lips and digging into his pocket for a lighter. Minho takes that as the signal, the all clear.

The gloves are still a little too big on him. They leave a gap on the tips of his fingers and aren't very comfortable overall. He thinks maybe he shouldn’t have borrowed Chan’s— he hasn’t seen the man use them in a while which is likely why the material feels stiff and unyielding as he clenches his fist. They at least fasten at his wrists, providing him with some sense of security as he grips the pipe on the side of the building, testing its strength. It’s solid enough, not so much that Minho would push it and climb to the roof on it but the window is around ten feet off the ground. It’s good enough.

He hauls himself up, fingers fumbling at the too-small handholds he’s gotten used to throughout years of this work, his feet supplementing his handwork. His hands ache with the effort, the skin likely splitting open again under the bandages, making them rub against him uncomfortably. He feels like he’s made a mistake here but he justifies it by telling himself that this mistake rights his first mistake. If he hadn’t gone to the club, he wouldn’t have been benched today. He needs to perform normally, show everyone he’s okay. He can own up to and correct his mistakes, reap the consequences to his actions later without affecting the others to such an extent.

It takes him longer than he’d like to scramble up. Not his most impressive work ever but with his hands and gloves in such a state, he decides to cut himself some slack here. He fumble into his front pack, taking out the necessary tool in preparation to open the window. He slips the long, flat strip of metal under the corner of the window and feels around for the lock, pushing it to the side with the tool. The lock clicks open, makes Minho smile to himself.

He spares a glance at Jisung, looking across the street to see the other man looking around, a casual look on his face. Minho knows him better by now to know he’s nervous, noting the way his fingers drum on his thigh impatiently, lit cigarette hanging forgotten between his fingers. He glances up and catches Minho’s eye briefly, the ghost of a smile flashing onto his features. Minho smiles back, hand gripping the edge of the window as he pulls himself up. He looks away, focusing on his task, exerting himself in order to slip into the window.

It all goes wrong, somehow. His fingertips slip in his gloves, the leather not used to harsh grip, the window ledge being smaller than he calculated, _something_. Before he can register it, can even scramble for a second hold, he’s falling. His feet slip out from under him, leaving him in free fall. He hasn’t fallen in _years_. It just doesn’t happen to him.

Right away, he can tell the angle will be hell. He needs to tuck his head up to avoid braining himself on the asphalt, but he’s too far back, falling head over ass, face over ankles. He panics, reaches an arm out to grip at something, _anything_.

His right hand finds the pipe again, gripping it with all his might, effectively stopping his fall a few feet from the ground. The grip wrenches at his arm, though, pulling his shoulder in such a way that he hears a distinct _pop_ , the pain blooming soon after. He can’t contain his exclamation of pain which echoes off the alley walls, can’t keep his grip, his hand slipping off the pipe uselessly and dropping him the remaining few feet to the ground. He lands on his feet like a cat, the impact resonating up his body but not leaving him any worse for wear. His fucking _shoulder,_ though. It hurts like nothing he’s ever experienced before and he sags into the wall on his uninjured shoulder, left hand gripping the center of his pain gently. It's too dark to see anything but he can _feel_ the dislocation, his shoulder not feeling like a shoulder under his touch, the hard bump of a bone sticking out of where it's not supposed to be.

When he looks up, he sees Jisung running towards him, panic evident on his face.

“Shit,” Jisung whispers as he approaches. “Shit, shit, shit, shit. What happened? Oh, fuck.”

“Shoulder,” Minho manages to gasp through the pain. “Dis… dislocated, I think.”

Jisung’s hands fly up, tracing the injured shoulder shakily, as if trying to figure out how to help. “Fuck. Is it bad? Can you walk? Can you…?”

“Yeah,” He tries to assure him despite the sweat beading at his hairline. “I’m fine. We can get back and—”

He shifts, moving to stand. It jostles him in such a way that it brings fresh pain to the injury, makes him wince again, makes him stumble. He doesn’t yell out again, thankfully, but the way Jisung looks at him, eyes wide with worry, makes him think he’s not containing his pain too well.

Jisung finally lands his searching hands onto Minho’s face, cupping his cheeks. Forcing their eyes to meet.

“Breathe,” he says, words coming as a sort of déjà vu to his encounter with Jeongin yesterday. Another echo. “In and out, follow me. It’ll help the pain. Here, breathe with me.”

He tries to sync his breathing to Jisung’s, breath coming harsh and quick, the pain in his shoulder coming in waves. They stand there for a second, looking into each other's eyes, feeling each other’s breathing. When he’s sure he won’t cry out again if he moves, he nods once to Jisung, who nods back vigorously.

“I’ll get the car. You can stay here, I’ll bring it, you won’t have to move. I’ll—”

“Go.” Minho interrupts his rambling. “Before I go get it for you.”

Jisung nods again, taking a step away. “I’ll be right back. Just—just wait here, okay?”

Minho watches him jog out of the alleyway, disappearing around the corner while he focuses on his breathing.

It isn’t long until the car pulls up. Jisung drives it onto the sidewalk, getting it as close to the mouth of the alleyway as possible. Minho doesn’t wait for him to help, instead taking a few steps, leaning heavily on the bricks of the wall. He stumbles forwards a few feet before Jisung is there, reaching out for him. Their hands meet and Jisung readjusts them, propping him up and away from the wall with his arm around his back, throwing Minho’s left arm around his shoulder. It takes everything out of Minho not to make a noise, keeping at least some of his dignity intact. By the time they get to the passenger door, Minho is covered in sweat and Jisung is bearing nearly all his weight.

The slide into the car is another ordeal where Jisung accidentally bumps into his injured shoulder as he helps him inside, drawing a rather pathetic whimper out of him.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry, I’ll make it up to you, I’ll buy you a whole buffet, I—” Jisung cuts himself off as he closes the door. When he makes his way around the car, opening the drivers side and getting in, he’s still rambling. “—And that jacket you saw that one day you kinda liked two years ago and maybe a new pair of leather pants, too.”

“Not… not leather,” Minho pants out. “It never breathes. It’s… sexy but at what c-cost?”

Jisung’s laugh is a little hysterical as he turns them onto the road. “You’re right, yeah. At what cost? What’s the point of them?”

“My ass looks f-fucking great in them is what,” he tries to joke through the pain.

The car turns harshly, making Minho wince again at the movement. Jisung looks at him apologetically and slows down, their next turn coming gently. “You’re right about that.”

“You—you’ve been looking?”

Jisung lets out a strangled noise. “Uh. Uh, yeah, I have, I—”

“Good,” Minho interrupts. “I’m glad _someone_ is.”

The answering laugh is calmer now, less on edge. “I don’t think—I mean, I hope I’m not the only one. That would be embarrassing.”

His shoulder throbs, his knuckles ache, every part of him spent, but the sound of laughter makes him feel more at ease. “I’m sure you’ve done more embarrassing things than checking out my ass, Ji.”

“Nothing I’m admitting to and you can’t make me.”

That makes _him_ laugh, the movement shaking the injury, but this time he welcomes it, preferring to linger on the good rather than the bad.

Points to Jisung, he’s always been a good driver. They make it back to their complex in record time with the least jostling possible. As they come to stop, he sees a familiar figure at the door.

“You called him?” Minho hisses.

“When I was getting the car,” Jisung explains. “I had to. I didn't know what to do! It looked really bad, Lino. We needed help.”

Chan approaches swiftly and opens the passenger door without fanfare, a wild look in his eyes. He takes in Minho’s sorry state, worry mounting on his features.

“Oh, God.” He murmurs. “Minho....”

He can’t meet Chan’s eyes. He’s not sure what hurts worse, his shoulder, the look in Chan’s eyes, or his pride.

Chan wastes no time in slipping a hand behind his back, helping him out of the car in a single, fluid motion. He throws Minho’s uninjured shoulder across his neck, stooping down before Minho can stop him, and hauls him up, carrying him bridal style.

“What happened?” Chan asks, keeping his eyes forward.

“Slipped,” Minho informs. “Fell. Caught myself. Dislocated it.”

There’s a sharp nod, indicating he’s understood it. “How high?”

“Couple of— couple of feet. Not a roof.”

Another nod. “It’ll be okay.” They cross the elevator doors, Jisung scrambling back to the car to go park it.

At their door, Chan kicks, signaling for someone to open it. He spares Minho a worried glance before the door is being unlocked and they're bursting into the apartment, pushing past a very startled looking Changbin.

Chan calls out, “Oi! Clear the table. All hands on deck.”

Minho watches as the others process what they’re seeing, eyes widening and scrambling to clear the dinner table of the remnants of their dinner. He’s laid on it gently, a soft noise leaving him as his shoulder touches onto the wood.

“Jeongin,” Chan calls, repositioning himself to Minho's right. “Get some ice. Hyunjin, get his gloves off. Felix, scissors.”

There’s another flurry of activity around him as his crew members move to their stations. He spies Changbin and Seungmin hovering at the entrance to the dining room, nervous looks on their faces. Hyunjin strips Chan's too-big gloves off Minho gently, taking into account his previous injuries. At this point, Minho feels like a collage of them, layering on each other and making him ache, bone-deep.

Felix returns, scissors in hand, and Minho feels like this won’t end well.

“I like this shirt,” He complains to Chan, who takes the scissors into his hands.

Chan doesn’t look anything but determined as he picks at the fabric. “I’ll buy you a new one. Promise.”

The scissors snip away his sleeve, exposing his shoulder and part of his chest. He chances a look at it and instantly regrets it. The skin is red and misshapen, his shoulder not… looking like a shoulder. It looks _wrong_ , pointing the wrong way. He turns his head away to see Jeongin approaching with the ice pack, sees Jisung joining Changbin and Seungmin at the entrance. The two instantly turn to the newcomer, likely to ask what happened. Beside him, Hyunjin looks away from his shoulder uneasily, trying and failing to give him a reassuring smile.

“Hey, hyung.” Hyunjin holds Minho’s good hand in both of his, lacing their fingers together. “It’ll be okay. Channie-hyung is gonna make it better.”

“This’ll hurt,” Chan informs.

Minho nods once. “Do it.”

Chan’s hand appears in his field of vision, holding the scraps of his sleeve. “Bite down.”

Minho follows his orders, letting the fabric be stuffed into his mouth. Chan’s strong hands grip his skin, pushing the muscle and bone around, feeling around the injury to assess it. Jeongin’s hands grip the ice pack harshly, as if horrified by the sight. Felix comes up behind Hyunjin, pressing their backs together as he reaches over to stroke Minho's face reassuringly.

“Okay,” Chan says lowly, likely talking to himself. “Okay, okay.”

The grip tightens. He pulls Minho’s arm taut, making him whimper. The palm of his hand presses firmly to the injury. The entire room seems to hold its breath—

Chan presses down harshly, popping the shoulder back swiftly.

The yell Minho lets out is muffled by the gag but it still echoes off the walls of the dining room. He tightens his grip on Hyunjin’s hand as Felix holds his cheek, shushing him as one would an injured animal.

“The ice,” Chan calls. Jeongin seems to snap out of it and makes it the rest of the way, handing the ice to Chan over Minho’s body. The cold press of ice to his shoulder soon follows and he hears Chan exhale loudly, relieved.

“Hey. Hey,” he leans in, lays a hand over Felix’s. Minho turns to meet his gaze, eyes watery. “It’s not broken. It’s okay. I mean, it’s gonna hurt for a while, but it’s okay. It could’ve been worse.”

It isn’t the reprimand he thought was coming. It isn’t what he thought it would be, not _You could've blown the heist_ , not _You could've ruined everything_. It's reassurance, comfort. As if what worries Chan is the fact of his well being, his pain.

“You need to rest. _Please._ ” The emotion in Chan’s eyes is hard to witness. “It won’t heal up right unless you take a break.”

The tears in Minho’s eyes seem to multiply in an instant. He blinks them away and turns his head to his shoulder, now covered in ice, the surrounding skin red, but everything looking alright again. He slips his eyes closed. The hands fall away from his face, from his hand.

“We’ll put him in his room,” Chan tells the others. “He’ll need a sling, painkillers, and water.”

“I’ll go,” It sounds like Felix volunteers for it.

“Open up,” Hyunjin murmurs, fingers at the edge of his mouth, tugging at the gag. He lets it be taken from him, unconcerned with whatever noises he could make now.

Chan’s presence returns on his left side. “I’ll get you to bed. I’m going to pick you up again now.”

Minho nods, refusing to open his eyes. If he witnesses a single more emotion, he’ll snap.

He lets himself be carried to his room, taking advantage of the moment to bury his head into Chan’s neck and inhale, feeling the comfort course through him at the smell of fresh laundry and faded cologne, a smell so inherently _Chan_ that he almost sobs in relief.

Jeongin walks with them, holding the ice to his shoulder dutifully, remaining there until Minho is laid on his bed and Chan steps away.

“It’s okay, hyung,” Jeongin whispers. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”

He feels hesitant fingers at his hairline pushing the hair back and he cracks an eye open, meeting the younger man’s nervous eyes.

“Thank you,” he says. The words summon a pitiful smile onto Jeongin’s face, a smile he returns briefly before looking away and shutting his eyes once more.

Felix comes around with a sling, bandages, Changbin, and more painkillers than he’ll probably ever need. Changbin helps him sit up and hands him the water. He takes three pills of questionable origins and accepts their help to strip off what remains of his shirt. Together, they bandage the shoulder in place and redress his knuckles, take off his boots, help him into a looser shirt, and slip the sling around him. It’s an old thing, from when Seungmin broke his arm trying to learn from Minho, but it’s good enough for their current situation.

They sit with him for a while before Chan comes around. He stands at the door, looking tired. “Hey, guys. Let him rest.”

Changbin nods, getting up and helping Felix with the supplies they’ve brought along. Once they’re out, Chan stands there for another second, making Minho think he has something to say.

Instead, he says, “Goodnight,” and slips back out, leaving Minho in the dark with his throbbing shoulder and his thoughts.

+++

By the time the painkillers kick in, he's exhausted. He's tired, beat up in every sense of the word, every part of him aching worse than when he woke up this morning.

But he isn’t sleepy. His mind keeps going in circles with itself, eating itself over and over, an ouroboros of thought. He’s trying to figure himself out, asking himself why he does these things. Why he went out to the fight club yesterday, why he tried to prove a point today. His mind unhelpfully flashes back to Chan, whose worry had seemed to get worse with every mounting action. Who’d tried to help him by keeping him away from the action for his own good.

Minho stands, the pain dulled for now. He pads out of his room quietly, softly. Despite it being past midnight, he can hear the rest of his crew in the living room, watching something on TV. He chances a glance inside. Felix sits comfortably by Changbin’s side, half on his lap, while Jisung takes over his other side. Hyunjin’s legs are draped over Jeongin’s lap, his head on Seungmin’s lap while he plays with his hair. Chan sits on the arm of the sofa looking spent but more awake than ever. He stares at the television, not taking in a single thing.

Changbin’s gaze snaps up, meeting Minho’s eyes. They stay locked for a second before Minho continues his path to the door, forgoing his shoes as he slips out.

The air is cool once he steps onto the roof, wind cutting into his skin and making his joints ache. He takes a deep breath, makes his way to the edge and looks around, taking in the city skyline, the blinking lights as they fade into the distance.

He doesn’t turn when he hears the door to the staircase open.

“You're like a cat.” Changbin announces. “When you're upset, you find the highest perch.”

Minho looks back to see his silhouette outlined by the staircase lights as he stands at the door to the roof. He turns back to the cityscape before answering, “I'll take that as a compliment.”

He hears the door close before Changbin speaks again. “It was meant as one.”

There’s no more words as the other man approaches, heavy boots echoing off the ledges of the roof. Wind ruffles Minho’s hair, makes him shake his head to readjust it as Changbin moves to sit by him, looking over the city lights as well.

He isn’t up for another battle of the wits today and he knows Changbin won’t ask, knows they’ll sit here as long as necessary until one of them breaks and it will likely be Minho. So, he accepts his fate and sighs lightly, aiming for nonchalance with his tone. “How can I help you?”

“You tell me.” Changbin answers quickly. “What happened to you today?”

“When? You mean when I got benched or when I fucked everything up?”

“The benching was for your own good. You can’t blame Chan for it. He was worried about you,” he looks up, tries to meet his eyes. “He was worried yesterday. And again today.”

Minho can’t help the venom that rolls off his tongue, “Yesterday? You mean before or after you went to your room?”

Changbin doesn't miss a beat. “After. We were talking about you.”

His stomach churns at the information. “I'm honored.”

“And I'm just as worried as he is. What happened? Why’d you do it?”

He lets out a mirthless laugh, “Which part? You need to start naming my mistakes so I can start identifying them correctly.”

“I don’t know. All of it, I guess.”

Minho opens his mouth but Changbin doesn't let him start, “No, wait. Yesterday. Why’d you ask me about the fight club?”

He's at a loss for a long moment, answers not coming. He deflects instead, “Why did you tell me about it?”

“I…” Changbin looks away, searching the skyline for an answer. “I guess… I wanted to impress you. Like you'd think I was cool if I let you in on the secret.”

Despite his best efforts, it _did_ make him feel special. It did feel like he was in on the secret. Still, he tries to shake it off. “You also told Jisung and Felix.”

Changbin snorts. “Jisung's the one who took me to my first meeting. And Felix… I guess I wanted him to like me too.”

He doesn't know what to do with this answer, feeling like there's a lot to unpack there. Instead, he asks another question, one that's been on his mind since he met Changbin.

“Why do you fight?”

It takes a second for Changbin to answer, shrugging before he does. “I like the challenge,” he finally admits. “But you don't. You barely like training with me.”

 _Touché,_ Minho thinks. He's getting them back on topic effortlessly. “Maybe I just don't like you.”

There’s a fond roll of the eyes from Changbin at the words. “No, I’m serious—why? If you wanted to train, you had six others here you could’ve sparred with. You didn’t need to go out and fight someone.”

“Why’d you tell me about it?” Minho presses back. “Why’d give me the address? Why did you explain how it worked?”

“I thought… I thought you wanted to watch. I didn’t think you’d….” A pause, as if measuring his tone. It comes out gentle, caring. Worried. “Why did you fight?”

There’s a moment where everything in Minho stops. The dam inside him feels close to bursting, weakened by the cover of darkness, by this awful night, by Changbin’s too-soft tone. He can barely think before the confession comes out, voice a harsh whisper, like it’s being ripped out of him— “Because I wanted to see what you’d do. What you’d all do if I... if you saw me like that. Hurt.”

The silence that follows chokes Minho from the inside out.

“Fuck,” The curse is raw, breaking the silence. Minho feels Changbin shifting his position, moving to face him. “Why would you wanna do that? Just to see if we noticed?”

A sharp nod. Every deep, dark, jealous thought he’s had in the past week surfaces again and he’s overwhelmed by it, unable to tamp it back down. He’d wanted to be there that night after the fight, learning from Seungmin’s expertise, sitting with Jisung and tittering. He’d wanted to be holding Felix between his legs, wanted to be held by Hyunjin as they’d watched a movie. He’d wanted to be in Changbin’s room with him, with Chan—

He’d wanted, he’d _wanted_ so deeply and so terribly that it scared him. That it was terrifying to think that none of them wanted that, as well. That he’d been alone in his longing. That he’d greedily stolen that kiss from Chan, that moment with Jeongin, the morning with Seungmin, the night with Jisung. All because those were the moments he could afford to take, that he found footholds in and clung on and— oh, he's _not_ about to cry. No way, no how. He takes in a shaky breath to calm himself but Changbin has already heard the noise, moves closer to him.

Changbin encroaches on his side, pressing his chest to Minho's left arm, one leg slotting below the arch of his drawn up knees, the other pressing against his lower back. Then, he's being enveloped in Changbin, arms pressing him into his chest. He goes, half fighting into it. The weight of his mind collapsing him into it.

There’s only _warmth_ as he clings to Changbin’s shirt, feeling his heartbeat, his breaths, pressing a cheek to his chest and feeling him solid beneath him. A source of stability.

“Of _course_ we noticed.” Changbin says. Minho can hear the rumbling of the words in his chest. “It’d be hard not to notice. Don’t you—haven’t you seen the way we look at you?”

A spark of hope lights a fire in Minho’s mind. He says nothing, takes a shaky inhale. Presses his face harder into Changbin’s chest, trying to organize his thoughts, hoping that he doesn’t have to answer that.

Luckily, Changbin continues. “Fuck, I’m not good at this. Hyunjin should be here, honestly. It’s….” He takes a breath. “I don’t know what to say to you other than… I’ve seen the way Jisung looks at you when you enter a room. I mean, Chan can’t stop staring either. Hell, we _all_ look at you. You’re important to us. To me.” There’s a pause, the fire in Minho’s mind spreading. Changbin runs a hand down his injured arm, being beyond gentle with him. “You need to look around you, man. Stop _thinking_ about what you want and just look around you and _say it_. Any one of us would do anything for you. We’re all, uh. Kind of in love with you. Haven’t you noticed?”

He’s about to say _No, I haven’t, actually_ , when he realizes. It clicks. Like all he needed was the word to recontextualize everything he's done and experienced in the past two days. He finally has an answer to the question he asked by going down to the fight club. Chan picking him up, Felix bandaging him up, Jeongin coming to him for reassurance, Hyunjin complimenting him, Seungmin making a place for him, Jisung being his lookout, Changbin seeking him out— it’s all part of the same language. The same train of thought, the same ballpark. _Love_. The word makes his breath catch.

“You... love me.” It sounds like he’s feeling his way around the words, deciding if he likes them or not. “You all… love me?”

“Uh, yeah? Come on, dude. No way you’re _that_ blind.”

His eloquent response comes out as a whine, “Fuck you.”

Changbin laughs at it, tightening his grip briefly. A hug. “You’re so whiny, hyung.”

“That’s rich, coming from you.”

“I'm not the one crying into someone's shirt right now!”

“I'm not crying!” Okay, he's damn near close to it but he won't admit it to anyone. Ever.

Changbin's laugh is music to his ears, a loud rumbling against his cheek. “You're so cute.”

“I know. And you wanna kiss me.”

“I do,” Changbin admits without hesitation. “Will you let me? Are you done with your pity party?”

“You're so rude to me,” Minho sniffs, pushing away from Changbin's chest. He sits up to eye level, their gazes meeting. The smile on Changbin’s face is so genuine and happy—so _loving_. It brings out a laugh from Minho at how ridiculous this all seems. He’s been torturing himself over something that now seems so simple, seeing the answer to everything reflected in Changbin’s eyes.

He leans in without hesitation.

The kiss catches Changbin off guard. It’s off center, too far up, and Minho tilts where Changbin doesn’t, so their noses bump together uncomfortably. It takes a second for Changbin to recognize that he’s being kissed but when he does recognize it, he goes without hesitation. Their lips press together almost chastely, a soft encounter for a second as Minho sighs into the kiss. He lets his lips fall open with the action and Changbin melts into him, mimicking how he opens his mouth, deepening the kiss.

They become a tangle of limbs as Minho kisses Changbin languidly, taking his time, getting to know every detail of him, every noise. It’s so much more than he thought it could be and he’s so grateful he gets to do it.

A thought comes back to him, a piece of their conversation. He leans back, breaking the kiss, making Changbin chase after him in an effort to get back into it. Once he realizes Minho isn’t coming back, he whines, brow knitting together.

Before Changbin’s pleas deepen, Minho asks, “Jisung said he looks at me. You said Jisung looks at me. And Chan, did he say that? Any others?”

“Everyone. Seungmin was looking at you during dinner. Felix always does. Jeongin, Hyunjin. Everyone.”

“Do you think they’d want to kiss me, too?”

“Fuck, hyung. I think everyone you ever meet for the rest of your life will want that.”

Minho’s answering smile is just this side of mischievous. “Let’s go test that theory.”

+++

Changbin helps him down the stairs. It’s not like he needs the help but he can’t bring himself to push the other man off, relishing the warmth that presses into his side.

Once they get into the apartment, Minho trails ahead, quickly hobbling his way into the living room, where everyone seems to have been exactly where he left them. Chan has left but he can smell and hear popcorn in the distance and with Changbin gone, Jisung and Felix have started leaning on each other. Hyunjin now sits up, legs still in Jeongin’s lap but no Seungmin to be found.

There’s no preamble, no opening line to it all. He announces his demand simply and effortlessly. “Hey, Jisung. Kiss me.”

The sentence seems to stun everyone in the vicinity and Minho delights in seeing their eyes widen, their eyebrows raise. He even hears the rummaging in the kitchen stop before Chan peeks out, expression open and questioning. The only one who’s not even remotely surprised is Changbin, who stands behind him and laughs loudly, breaking through the ensuing silence.

Jisung looks from him to the floor and back up, mouth moving wordlessly for a second before he finally asks, “Wait, what?”

Hyunjin raises a hand casually, “Hey, if he doesn't want to, I volunteer.”

“No, wait, pick me!” Felix’s smile is charming as he bats his eyelashes. Minho recognizes this as his _coy_ look. It would work on him if he hadn’t seen him pull it on countless other suckers on jobs before.

Jisung holds up his hands, attempting to silence everyone. “Hang on, hang on. He asked me!”

Minho makes a noise, as if reconsidering. “Too late. The offer's up.” He weighs pros and cons for a second before deciding. “Felix. Come here.”

Felix's answering smile is blinding. Bright as sunshine. It warms Minho to his core.

Jisung’s voice wavers pathetically as he watches him approach Minho. “Aw, man. Not fair.”

Chan tries to interrupt, attempts to get a handle on the situation. “Hang on, what's—”

Minho isn’t letting him. “You'll get your turn,” he declares and watches as Chan’s mouth falls open delicately, ears turning red. Their leader trades his gaze between Minho and Changbin a few times before settling on Changbin. “Did you do this?”

“Don't blame me,” Changbin says, still chuckling to himself. “All I did was talk to him.”

“Yeah,” Minho pipes in. “And he already got his turn.”

He's surprised Jeongin's eyes are still in their sockets with how wide they open.

Felix looks as bright and bubbly and _happy_ as ever, a lovely smile on his lovely mouth. For a second, Minho wonders if this will even be possible with how wide he’s smiling, if the kiss will just be Minho pressing his closed lips onto Felix’s wide ones. While he’s trying to figure it out, Felix sobers up, pulling his face out of his smile and leaning into Minho’s space.

“You're sure?” Felix asks, voice low.

“Kiss me already,” Minho complains, meeting him in the middle.

Minho can pinpoint the exact moment when Seungmin enters, the younger man announcing his arrival loudly with, “Whoa! What the…?”

“Don’t ask,” Chan tells him. “You won’t get an answer.”

Minho opens his eyes, meeting Seungmin’s gaze while his lips are still pressed to Felix’s mouth. Seungmin looks startled at the eye contact, embarrassed to be caught, his cheeks pinking as he watches Minho kiss Felix slowly. He breaks the kiss before Felix can but the younger man doesn’t let him get very far, instead pressing his face into Minho’s neck and hugging his uninjured arm.

“Do you want one?” Minho asks Seungmin as he drops his cheek onto the top of Felix’s head.

Seungmin stutters through three different sounds before he forms a word. “Y… yes? Is this a joke?”

“No,” Minho assures, nodding him over. “Come here.”

Felix takes this as his cue to separate from him, moving away as Seungmin takes a hesitant step forward.

“Why’s he second?” Jisung complains again. “I was supposed to be first.”

“Stop whining,” Hyunjin responds. “I’ll kiss you if you want it so bad.”

Minho doesn’t look at anyone but at Seungmin, tuning out their bickering as the other man approaches him, his steps timid. Minho soon learns he doesn’t have the patience for this, making an exasperated noise before he takes two quick steps, coming up on Seungmin fast and landing a hand on his waist.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” He asks for clarification.

“Yes. Absolutely, I—”

Minho doesn’t let him finish his thought.

Their lips press together softly, briefly. The contact lasts only a few seconds, is nothing but chaste, but when Minho pulls back, Seungmin’s eyes are closed, his lips parting gently, eyebrows knotting together when he realizes he’s not being kissed anymore.

“Wait,” Seungmin says. “Come back.”

Minho laughs, “You’re so needy.” He presses another kiss to him and leans back, takes another second before pressing in for a third one. He doesn’t step away from Seungmin when he’s done, instead looking around to see Hyunjin making good on his promise and leaning over Jeongin’s lap to kiss Jisung silly. Jeongin’s blush is high on his cheeks as he looks on, entranced by the scene taking place in front of him.

Minho looks up, searching for Chan. The older man hasn’t moved, a shocked expression overtaking his features. Before he steps away from Seungmin, he lays a sloppy kiss onto his cheek, a messy, wet thing which leaves Seungmin cringing backwards and wiping his cheek. “You’re the worst hyung ever.”

“Tell it to someone who cares,” Minho shoots back breezily, taking the last few steps up to Chan. He sets his good arm onto Chan’s shoulder. A beat passes where Chan doesn’t move, only stares at Minho as if he’s something delicate, something to be coddled. Minho gets impatient, steps further into his personal space. “Hold me,” he demands.

Chan’s hands raise hesitantly before he sighs, landing them high on Minho’s hips. Good enough for now.

“You benched me today,” Minho informs him, an overexaggerated pout set on his face.

The way Chan's expression falls makes Minho want to take it back, even if he was trying to joke about it. “I wasn’t trying to keep you out of anything. I was worried about you. You've never— I didn’t want you to think that I was trying to brush you aside. I was trying to keep you safe. I hate seeing you hurt. I _hate_ it. I hate that you got hurt on my watch. _Twice._ It happened twice.” Chan’s hands tighten on his waist. “I was blaming myself for it.”

“It wasn’t you,” Minho says softly. “It was me. It was all me. I’m fucked up, you already knew this.”

That draws a laugh from Chan, whose expression becomes slightly less pained. “You’re not. You’re perfect.” Chan closes the distance between them, dropping a kiss to Minho's cheek, the side of his nose, his forehead. Minho feels the older man’s lips ghost against his skin as he whispers against it, “Please don’t do it again.”

“I won’t,” Minho promises, and he finds that he’s sincere about it. He can’t stand the way Chan looks at him when he’s hurt, as if he’s hurting too, in the same way. “I’ll never wear your gloves to climb again. And if I ever need a fight club, I’ll ask you.”

Chan laughs again, the edges of it sounding a bit watery. “I don’t think I’d be good at it. I really don’t want to hurt you.”

“Okay. So it’ll be an excuse for me to pin you to the floor, then.”

The hands on his hips tighten, fingers drumming lightly. Chan looks conflicted, as if he's reluctant to admit to _himself_ how much the words affect him.

“Would you not want that?” Minho probes.

“No! I would. I would like it, yes. Just, uh. I don’t think you’d need an— an _excuse_.”

“Starting right now, I hope not.” He finally leans in, sealing their lips in a kiss which feels like a beginning. Another promise.

+++

They do end up using Seungmin’s explosives in the end. It’s messier, sure, maybe not as refined as they’d originally planned, of course— but damn if Minho doesn’t love seeing the skilled precision through which the charges are set. He has to watch it all from the tablet Jeongin programmed for him while sitting in the safety of the van across the street from the bank again but it's better than nothing, he thinks.

In less than a full minute, Seungmin has the vault door wired and is giving the others the signal to take cover. The explosives are controlled and precise, the exact thing Seungmin prides himself on. Measurements and specifics, using things perfectly down to the decimal. Minho would call him a nerd for it if it didn’t work so beautifully every single time.

This time is no different. It smokes a little and sounds louder than you’d expect but the vault door swings open easily. Minho watches as a ski-masked and leather-gloved Chan moves first, jogging up to their objective. Jeongin, Felix, and Seungmin follow without hesitation, swinging their empty duffles over their heads in preparation to load up on the stacks of money and gold that take up the shelves of the vault.

Minho taps his screen to switch the camera angle, seeing how Hyunjin and Changbin stalk their way around the lobby, subduing the crowd and the tellers.

“Two minutes,” Minho says into his headpiece. “Quickly.”

Chan’s voice sounds in his ear, low and crackly. “You’re bossy today.”

“I’m making sure you don't mess this up. Now, go.”

“Stop flirting,” Jisung says, making Minho glance up to the driver's seat where he’s fidgeting, fingers tapping on the steering wheel. He keeps glancing into the bank, up and down the street, and back again. “You’ll make me jealous over here.”

“Aww,” Minho leans over. “If you’re so jealous, come here.”

He doesn’t wait for Jisung to look at him, instead pressing an overexaggerated kiss to his cheek with an obnoxious noise.

Seungmin’s voice interrupts them, “Can you guys not make out right now? We’re all kind of in the middle of something.”

Minho smiles as Jisung turns to face him. He leans in to plant another kiss, this time meeting lips with lips. It's not as messy but just as noisy, Minho making a point to deepen it with a low noise. When he pulls back, he presses another, smaller kiss to the tip of Jisung's nose and watches as he wrinkles it cutely

“We can _hear_ you, come on,” Changbin complains.

“Jealousy isn’t pretty, Binnie,” Minho responds. “One minute.”

Jisung blinks away the look in his eyes which Minho has come to recognize is him asking for more kisses and he shifts his attention to the mission at hand. He turns the keys in the ignition, bringing the engine of the van to life. It rumbles under his touch like a wild animal, like most vehicles did when handled by Jisung.

“Coming out,” Chan calls through comms.

Sure enough, when Minho glances down at the tablet, he sees their crew jogging their way out of the vault, into the lobby, joining back up, and making their way towards the doors.

“Everyone, close your eyes!” Hyunjin demands lightly. “We’re throwing a flash grenade now. Look away unless you’re okay with being blinded!”

“And cover your ears,” Seungmin supplies. “They’re louder than you might think!”

Felix and Changbin reach the doors first, holding them open for the others as they file out. Just as he promised, Hyunjin pulls the pin on one flash grenade, then another, tossing them inside quickly before he, too, jogs outside. Minho turns off the tablet, looking up at their approaching crew, Jeongin in front and Changbin last, making sure to close the doors with a comically large lock they’d procured as a joke but later realized worked perfectly for this part of their plan.

Jeongin throws the doors to the van open just as Minho hears the police sirens. They’re faint, barely there, maybe three minutes away if he had to guess. Jeongin seems to hear them, too if the way his eyes widen is anything to go by. He stops, wide eyes locked onto Minho’s for a long second.

“Come on!” Minho calls, lips quirking as he watches the younger man snap out of it. Seungmin comes up behind him, laughing heartily. He throws an arm around Jeongin and hauls them both into the van, heavy duffels making it hard to move properly.

Not even a moment after they get in, Felix and Chan arrive with Hyunjin hot on their heels. They crash into each other, making a pile on the floor of the van. Seungmin’s laughter peaks then, making Minho smile at the sound. Jisung mimics the laughter nervously as Changbin brings up the rear seconds later, Chan scrambling to haul the doors to the van closed as soon as he’s in.

“Let’s go!” Minho calls.

Jisung floors it. He peels out of the parking spot with practiced ease, burning rubber down the quiet street. They pass under a red light and turn, leaving behind a mess of screeching brakes and honking horns. The turn presses Minho’s arm to the door, reminding him of his still tender injury, but he adjusts himself, focusing on the now. It barely hurts anymore, a few days having already passed since the incident, but Chan had insisted he’d wear the sling still, as a precaution. And given the way he'd been waited on hand and foot lately, he wasn’t about to give it up too soon.

From the back, Seungmin’s laughter peaks, Jeongin’s joining it soon after. It’s a cacophony of laughter and joy as they stumble over themselves, trying to reconfigure themselves carefully in the back of the van without handholds or seats, just bare floor. Minho turns to them again, watching them slip their masks off, sitting on the floor draping themselves over each other, swaying with the movements of the car.

Hyunjin looks up, meets his eyes with sparkling, joyful ones. He surges forward, hauling himself up with the aid of the passenger’s seat, bringing their faces together in one swift motion.

The kiss takes a second to manifest, noses and chins getting in the way while they barrel down the street and onto the highway. It’s messy when it finally connects, Hyunjin holding nothing back, adrenaline clearly fueling his actions. Minho attempts to give back as good as he gets, tongue sliding into Hyunjin’s mouth with a light groan.

“Comms are still on!” Changbin shouts.

Minho pulls back from the kiss to see him yanking his earpiece out harshly. Chan pulls his out too, but he’s looking at Minho while he does so, the look in his eyes soft and loving.

“Hang on!” Jisung pulls another harsh turn, tires screeching below them as they take their exit. Hyunjin manages to catch himself on the passengers side before he falls but Jeongin bumps into him, sending him sprawling into the space between the front seats.

“This isn’t safe!” Jeongin cries out.

The answer he gets is Jisung’s loud guffaw. “You picked the wrong profession for safe, buddy!”

The van flies into an alley then, finally, _finally_ slowing down as they crawl between the buildings under the highway, coming to a stop at the end of the one way street shadowed by an overpass. As they exit the van, Minho can barely hear the police sirens anymore, the police helicopter not even in their general vicinity.

“Hello! We're here!” Chan waves as it, as if calling it over. “I don’t think they can hear us.”

Felix laughs, bumping his shoulder into the other man. “Don’t jinx us.”

“I would never,” Chan smiles back.

Minho glances over their group, heavy duffels still on their backs, their job only partially done. Everyone looks breathless and happy, he’s met with sparkling eyes and incredulous smiles. As Hyunjin moves into Seungmin’s space for a hug, Changbin slings his arms around Felix and Jisung, lifting himself up with the leverage, making them stumble. The three of them laugh and complain, borderline raucous and echoing off the buildings that surround them.

He watches Chan make his way over to Jeongin. The younger man’s breathless smile turns timid with his approach, especially when Chan lands a hand on his shoulder, leaning in.

“Hey,” Minho can barely hear Chan’s words. “Good job out there. You did good. It was your plan and it worked perfectly. I’m proud of you.”

Jeongin blushes, avoids Chan’s gaze. “Thank you, hyung.”

Chan’s hand shifts, curling his arm around Jeogin’s shoulders and bringing him into his chest easily. He drops a kiss onto Jeongin’s head, holding him close in a one armed hug for a long moment.

Before Minho can look away, Jeongin’s eyes cut to him, nervous and joyful all at once. He spares him a smile as Chan tightens his grip then releases him.

Minho can’t help himself as he waves Jeongin over and he relishes the fact that Jeongin goes willingly, without hesitation, his smile widening marginally.

“I’m proud of you, too,” Minho declares. “It was good shit. You planned it from tip to tail. This is all you.”

A blush rises on Jeongin’s cheeks, colors his ears red. Minho wastes no time, leaning in and landing a kiss on his forehead, moving to the side and kissing the temple, moving again and catching the apple of his cheek.

“Good job out there,” he says before he presses one last, lingering kiss to the edge of his mouth.

When he pulls back, Jeongin looks dazed and lovely, color high on his cheeks. The smile that breaks onto his face seconds later is bright, wide, so utterly content that Minho almost leans in again.

He’s stopped by Chan calling them to action, splitting them into two groups for their drive back to an out of town safehouse where they can regroup and count their heist's latest take.

The two cars Jisung procured and fixed up for this are unassuming and slow. Jisung goes with Hyunjin, Seungmin, and Changbin into what they quickly dub 'the party car' while Chan herds Minho, Jeongin, and Felix into their own getaway vehicle, ready to assume his role as driver for this portion. The car they get into is beat up and easily twenty years old, with a muffler that smokes like crazy but, despite it all, Jisung had sworn up and down that it would not ever give up on them no matter how bad they treated it. Minho is still doubtful but he has no choice in the matter, so he goes.

As they turn onto a back road, moving away from the city, Chan glances over at him, smiling. He smiles back, soft and pleased as their hectic day comes to an end.

Their peace is broken by the shrill ringing of a phone. Chan’s hands tighten on the wheel. “Whose phone is that? Did one of you bring your phone?”

Minho glances around the car, meets Felix’s wide eyes and open mouth, Jeongin’s clear panic.

“No,” Felix answers. “It’s not mine. It’s—” He shifts around, pressing an ear to the backseat. “It’s inside the seat?”

“What the fuck?” Chan responds eloquently.

Minho watches curiously as Felix produces a switchblade and cuts into the upholstery, sticks a hand in. Sure enough, he produces a phone— a no-brand, throwaway one which stops ringing in his hand.

The air in the car thickens, worry blanketing them. Jisung said this car was clean, no one should have had access to it at all, much less to the seats and much, much less to plant a phone.

It rings again. Chan slows the car down. “Answer it.”

Felix does so hesitantly, treating the phone as if it’ll sting him. He’s pretty sure Jeongin has stopped breathing.

“Hello?” Felix tries, affecting his voice deeply, as if masking it.

Despite the fact that the phone is pressed to Felix’s ear, Minho can still hear Jisung’s loud greeting. “What’s up?” He draws out the words obnoxiously, causing Minho to roll his eyes.

“Ji, what the hell—?”

Jisung’s laughter is joined by Changbin’s. “Hey, hey, put me on speaker!”

Felix does as he asks, holding the phone close to the center of the car.

“Jisung!” Chan barks. “Not cool, man. Not cool.”

“Sorry!” The apology is offset by Jisung’s cackle. “Hey, we were wondering over here in the party car if we could get pizza for dinner!”

Changbin’s crackly whoop echoes through the car. “Come on, don’t be squares! We need a pizza party celebration!”

Chan sighs wearily as Felix and Jeongin’s faces crack into smiles.

Minho rolls his eyes once more, turning away from the commotion on the phone. He looks out the window, seeing the scenery pass by, and he settles in for the ride, the bright midday sun lighting their way there.

**Author's Note:**

> content warnings! mention of blood and injury but nothing graphic. there is also a scene in which a character dislocates a shoulder and has to have it put back in! again, nothing graphic, but please be warned!
> 
> in case you're confused bc it's not clear, their roles in the crew are:  
> \- **chan** : leader/planner/anything the group needs  
> \- **changbin** : planning/brawling  
> \- **jisung** : driver/car expert  
> \- **jeongin** : hacker  
> \- **minho** : stealth/cat burglar  
> \- **seungmin** : explosives/trying to learn everything else, too  
> \- **hyunjin** : face of the crew/negotiations  
> \- **felix** : con man/infiltrator
> 
> find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/MNCHNLX)!


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